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She stunned the world (and herself) with Olympic bronze in Tokyo. Then life went sideways. How America’s unexpected marathon phenom is getting her body—and brain—back on track. 

On a clear December night in 2019, Molly Seidel was at a rooftop holiday party in Boston, wearing a black velvet dress, doing what a lot of 25-year-olds do: passing a joint between friends, wondering what she was doing with her life.

“You should run the Olympic Trials,” her sister, Izzy, said, as smoke swirled in the chilly air atop The Trackhouse, a retail shop and community hub on Newbury Street operated by the running brand Tracksmith. “That would be hilarious if you did that as your first marathon.” 

Molly, an elite 10K racer who’d spent much of 2019 injured, looked out at the city lights, and laughed. Why the hell not? She’d just qualified for the trials, winning the San Antonio Half with a time of 1:10:27. (“The shock of the century,” as she’d put it.) True, 13.1 miles wasn’t 26.2—but running a marathon was something to do. If only because she never had before. 

A four-time NCAA track and cross-country champion at The University of Notre Dame in Indiana, Molly had moved to Boston in 2017, where she’d worked three jobs to supplement her fourth: running for Saucony’s Freedom Track Club. The $34,000 a year that Saucony paid her (pre-tax, sans medical) didn’t go far in one of America’s most expensive cities. Chasing kids around as a babysitter, driving around as an Instacart shopper, and standing around eight hours a day as a barista—when you’re running 20 miles a day—wasn’t ideal. But whatever, she had compression socks. And she was downing free coffee and paying rent, flying to Flagstaff, Arizona, every so often for altitude camps, and having a good time. Doing what she loved. The only thing she’s ever wanted to do since she was a freckly fifth-grader in small-town Wisconsin clocking a six-minute mile in gym class. 

“I was hustling, and I loved it. It was such a fun, cool time of my life,” she says, summarizing her 20s. Staring into Molly’s steely brown eyes, listening to her speak with such clarity and conviction about her struggles since, it’s easy to forget: She is still only 29. 

After Molly had hip surgery on her birthday in July 2018, her doctors gave her a 50/50 chance of running professionally again. By summer 2019, she’d parted ways with FTC, which left her sobbing on the banks of the Charles River, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes and uncertainty. Her biggest achievement lately had been being named #2 Top Instacart Shopper (in Flagstaff; Boston was big-time).

The day after that rooftop party, Molly asked her friend and former FTC teammate Jon Green, who she’d newly anointed as her coach: “Think I should run the marathon trials?” Sure, he shrugged. Nothing to lose. Maybe it’d help her train for the 10K, her best shot—they both thought—at making a U.S. Olympic team. 

“I’m going to get my ass kicked six ways to Sunday!” she told the host of the podcast Running On Om six weeks before the trials in Atlanta.

Instead, on February 29, 2020, she kicked some herself. Pushing past 448 of the fastest, most-experienced women marathoners in the country, coming in second with a 2:27:31, earning more in prize money ($60,000) than she had in two years of racing—and a spot on the U.S. trio for the 2020 Tokyo Olympics, along with Kenyan-born superstars Aliphine Tuliamuk and Sally Kipyego. “I don’t know what’s happening right now!” Molly kept saying into TV cameras, wrapped in an American flag, as stunned as a lottery winner. 

Saucony who? Puma came calling. Along with something Molly hadn’t anticipated: the spotlight. An onslaught of social media followers. And two weeks later, a global pandemic and lockdown—and all the anxiety and isolation that came with it. She was drowning, and she hadn’t even landed in Tokyo yet.

The 2020 Olympics, as we all know, were postponed to 2021. An emotional burden but a physical boon for Molly, in that it allowed her to get in a second marathon. In London, she finished two minutes faster than her debut. When the Olympics finally rolled around, she was ready. 

Before the race, Molly says, “I was thinking: ‘Once I cross the starting line, I get to call myself an Olympian and that’s a win for the day.’” 

But then she crossed the finish line—with a finger-kiss to the sky and a guttural Yesss!—in third place with a 2:27:46, just 26 seconds behind first (Kenya’s Peres Jepchirchir). And realized: She gets to call herself an Olympic medalist forever. Only the third American woman to ever earn one in the marathon.

Lots of kids have fleeting hopes of making it to the Olympics. I remember thinking I could be Mary Lou Retton. Maybe FloJo, with shorter fingernails. Then I decided I’d rather be Madonna or president of the United States and promptly forgot about it. But Molly held tight to her Olympic aspirations. She still has a poster she made in 2004, with stickers and a snapshot of her smiley 10-year-old self, to prove it. “I wish I will make it into the Olympics and win a gold medal,” she wrote, and signed it: Molly Seidel, the “y” looping back to underline her name. In case there was any doubt as to who, specifically, would be winning the medal.

Molly grew up in Nashotah, Wisconsin, and is the eldest of three. Her sister and brother, younger by not quite two years, are twins. Izzy is a running influencer and corporate content creator for companies like Peloton; and Fritz favors Formula 1 racing and weightlifting and works for the family’s leather-tanning business. The family was active, sporty. Dad, Fritz Sr., was a ski racer in college; Mom, Anne, a cheerleader. You can tell. Watching clips of Molly’s mom and dad watching the Olympic race from their backyard patio, jumping up and down, tears streaming, is the kind of life-affirming moment you wish you could bottle. “I’m in shock. I’m in disbelief,” Molly says into the mic, beaming. “I just wanted to come out today and I don’t know…stick my nose where it didn’t belong and see what I could come away with. And I guess that’s a medal.” When the interviewer holds up her family on FaceTime, Molly breaks down. “We did it,” she says into the screen between sobs and smiles. “Please drink a beer for me.

Molly hasn’t always been unabashedly herself, even when everyone thought she was. A compartmentalizer to the core, she spent most of her life hiding a huge part of it: anorexia, bulimia, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder, debilitating depression. 

It started around age 11, when she learned to disguise OCD tendencies, like compulsively knocking on wood, silently reciting prayers “to avoid God getting mad at me,” she says. “It was a whole thing.” She says her parents were aware of the behaviors, but saw them more as odd little habits. “They had no reason to suspect anything. I was very high-functioning,” she says. “They didn’t realize that it was literally taking over my life.” 

She wasn’t officially diagnosed with OCD until her freshman year of college, when she saw a therapist for the first time. At Notre Dame, disordered eating took hold, quietly yet visibly, as it does for up to 62 percent of female college athletes, according to the National Eating Disorders Association. As recently as the Tokyo Olympics, she was making herself throw up in the airport bathroom, mere days before taking the podium. Molly hesitates to share that detail; she fears a girl might read this and interpret it as behavior to model. “Having been in that place as a younger athlete, I know I would have,” she says. But she also understands: Most people just don’t get how unrelenting eating disorders can be. 

In February 2022, she finally received a diagnosis of the root cause for all of it: ADHD. About being diagnosed, she says, “It made me feel really good, like [I don’t have] a million different disorders. I have a disorder that manifests itself in a lot of different symptoms.”

She waited to try Adderall until after the Boston Marathon in April, only to drop out at mile 16 due to a hip impingement. Initially, the meds made her feel fantastic. Focused. Free. Until she realized Adderall hurt more than it helped. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, lost too much weight. Within weeks, she devolved. “The eating disorder came roaring back,” she says, referring to it, as she often does, as its own entity, something that exists outside of herself. That ruthlessly takes control over her very need for control. “I almost think of it as an alter ego,” she explains. “Adderall was just bubblegum in the dam,” as she puts it. She ditched the drug, and her life—professionally, physically—unraveled.

In July 2022, heading into the World Championships, she bombed the mental health screening, answering the questions with brutal honesty. She’d been texting Keira D’Amato weeks prior. “Yo girl, things are pretty bad right now. Get ready…” Sobbing on the sidewalk in Eugene, Oregon, she texted D’Amato again. And the USATF made it official: D’Amato would take her spot on the team. Then Molly did what she’d been “putting off and putting off”— checked herself into eating disorder treatment for the second time since 2016, an outpatient program in Salt Lake City, where her new boyfriend was living at the time. 

Somehow (see: expert compartmentalizer) mid-meltdown, in February 2022, she had met an amateur ultrarunner named Matt, on Hinge. A quiet, lanky photographer, he didn’t totally get what she did. “I didn’t understand the gravity of it,” he tells me. “I was like, Oh she’s a pro runner, that’s cool. I didn’t realize she was, like, the pro runner!” 

Going back to treatment “was pretty terrible,” she says. At least she could stay with Matt. Hardly a honeymoon phase, but the new relationship held promise. “I laid it all out there,” says Molly. “And he was still here for it, for all the messiness. It was really meaningful.” And a mental shift. “He doesn’t see me as just Molly the Runner.”

Almost a year later, on a freezing April evening in Flagstaff, Molly is racing around Whole Foods, palming a head of cabbage, grabbing a thing of hummus, hunting for deals even though she doesn’t need to anymore. 

“It’s all about speed, efficiency, and quality,” she says, explaining the secret to her earlier Instacart success. She checks the expiration date on a container of goat cheese and beelines for the butcher counter, scans it faster than an Epson DS3000, though not without calculation, and requests two tomato-and-mozzarella-stuffed chicken breasts. Then she darts over to the beverage aisle in her marshmallow-y Puma slip-ons that Matt custom-painted with orange poppies. She grabs a case of La Croix (tangerine), then zips to the checkout. We’re in and out in under 15 minutes and 50 bucks, nothing bruised or broken.

Other than her body. Let’s just say: If Molly were an avocado or a carton of eggs, she probably wouldn’t pass her own sniff test. The week we meet, she is just coming off a month of no running. Not a single mile. She’s used to running twice a day, 130 miles a week. No wonder she’s spraying her kitchen counter with Mrs. Meyer’s and scrubbing the stovetop within minutes of welcoming me into her new home. 

The place, which she shares with Matt and his Australian border collie, Rye, has a post-college flophouse feel: a deep L-shaped couch draped in Pendleton blankets, a bar cluttered with bottles of discount wine, a floor lamp leaning like the Tower of Pisa next to a chew toy in the shape of a ranch dressing bottle. Scattered about, though, are reminders that an elite runner sleeps here. Or at least tries to. (“Pro runner by day, mild insomniac by night” reads the bio on her rarely used account on what used to be Twitter.) There’s a stick of Chafe Safe on the coffee table. Shalane Flanagan’s cookbooks on the counter. And framed in glass, propped on the office floor: Molly’s Olympic kit—blue racing briefs with the Nike Swoosh, a USA singlet, her once-sweat-drenched American flag, folded in a triangle. “I’m not sure where to hang it,” she says. “It seems a little ostentatious to have it in the living room.” 

With long brown curls and a round, freckly face, Molly has an aw-shucks look so innocent that it’s hard, at first, to perceive her struggles. Flat-out ask her, though—How are you even functioning?—and she’ll tell you: “I’m an absolute wreck. There’s no worse feeling than being a pro runner who can’t run. You just feel fucking useless.” Tidying a stack of newspapers, she adds, “Don’t worry, I’ve had therapy today.” 

She’s watched every show. (Save Ted Lasso, “too sickly sweet.”) Listened to every podcast. (Armchair Expert is a favorite.) She’s got nothing else to do but PT and go easy on the ElliptiGo in the garage, onto which she’s rigged a wooden bookstand, currently clipped with A History of God: The 4,000 Year Quest of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. “I don’t read running books,” she says. “I need something different.”

Like most runners—even the most amateur among us—running, moving, is what keeps her sane. “What about swimming? Can you at least swim?” I ask, projecting my own desperation if I were in her size 8.5 shoes. “I fucking hate swimming,” says Molly. Walking? “Oh, yeah, I can go on walks. Another. Long. Walk.”

The only thing she has on her schedule this week is pumping up a local middle school track team before their big meet. The invitation boosted her spirits. “Should I just memorize Miracle on Ice?” she says, laughing. “No, I know, I’ll do Independence Day.”

Injuries are nothing new for Molly. Par for the course for any professional athlete. But especially for women, like her, who lack bone density—and have since high school, when, according to a study in the Orthopedic Journal of Sports Medicine, nearly half of female runners experience period loss. Osteoporosis and its precursor, osteopenia, are rampant in female runners, leading to ongoing issues that threaten not just their college and professional running careers, but their lives.

Still, Molly admits, laughing: She’s especially accident-prone. I ask her to list every scratch she’s ever had, which takes her 10 minutes, and goes all the way back to babyhood, when she banged her head against the bathtub spout. There was a cracked spine from a sledding incident in 8th grade, a broken collarbone from a ski race in high school, shredded knee cartilage in college when a driver hit her while she was riding a bike. “Ribs are constantly breaking,” she says. In 2021, two snapped, and refused to heal in time for the New York City Marathon. No biggie. She ran through the pain with a 2:24:42, besting Deena Kastor’s 2008 time by more than a minute and setting the American course record.

Molly’s latest injury? Glute tear. “Literally a gigantic pain in the ass,” she posted on Instagram in March. Inside, Molly was devastated. Pulling out of the Nagoya Marathon—the night before her 6:45 a.m. flight to Japan, no less—was not in the plan. The plan, according to Coach Green, had been simple. It always is. If the two of them even have one. “Just to have fun and be consistent.” And get a marathon or two in before the Olympic Trials in February 2024. 

She’d been finally—finally—fit on all fronts; ready to race, ready to return. She needed Nagoya. And then, nothing. “It feels like I’m back at the bottom of the well,” says Molly, driving home from Whole Foods in her Toyota 4Runner. “This last year-and-a-half has been so difficult. It’s just been a lot of doubt. How do I approach this, as someone who has now won a medal? Like, man, am I even relevant in this sport anymore?” She pops a piece of gum in her mouth. I wait for her to offer me some, because that’s what you do with gum, but she doesn’t. She’s so in her head. “It’s hard when you’re in the thick of it, you know, to figure out: Why the fuck do I keep doing this? When it just breaks my heart over and over and over again?” 

We pull into her driveway. “I was prepared for the low period after Tokyo,” she says. “But this has been much longer and lower than I expected.” 

The curse of making it to the Olympics, let alone coming back with a medal: expectations. Molly’s own were high. “I think I thought, after the Olympics, if I win a medal, then I will be fixed, it will fix everything.” Instead, in a way, it made everything worse. 

That’s the problem that has plagued Molly for most of her running career: Her triumphs and troubles intermingle, like thunder and lightning. Which, by the way, she has been struck by. (A minor backyard-grill, summer-thunderstorm incident. She was fine.)

The next morning in Flagstaff, Molly’s feeling like she can run a mile, maybe two. It’s snowing, though, and she doesn’t want to risk the slippery track, so we meet at Campbell Mesa Trails. She loops a band around the back of her truck to stretch and sends me off into the trees to run alone while she does a couple of laps on the street.

Molly leaves for an acupuncture appointment, and we reunite later at Single Speed Coffee (“the best coffee in Flagstaff,” promises the ex-barista who drinks up to three cups a day). We curl up on a couch like it’s her living room, and she talks as freely—and as loudly—as if it was. Does she realize everyone can hear her? She doesn’t care. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve grown so comfortable sharing—in therapy, on podcasts, in a three-part video series on ADHD for WebMD—you just…share. Loud and proud. 

Mental illness is so insidious, says Molly. “It’s not always this Sylvia Plath stick-my-head-in-a-fucking-oven thing, where you’re sad all the time,” she says. “High-functioning depressed people live normal successful lives. I can be having the happiest moment, and three days later I’m in a total downward spiral.” It’s something you never recover from, she says, but you learn to manage. 

“I’m this incredibly flawed person who struggles so much. I think: How could I have won this thing when I’m so flawed? I look at all the people around me, all these accomplished people who have their shit together, and I’m like, ‘one of these things is not like the other,’” she says, taking a sip of her flat white. “I was literally in the Olympic Village thinking: Everybody is probably looking at me wondering: Why the hell is she here?” 

They weren’t. They don’t. She knows that. 

And yet her mind races as fast as she does. It takes up So. Much. Space. When she’s running, though, the noise disappears. She’s not Olympic Molly or Eating Disorder Molly, she’s not even, really, Runner Molly. “When I’m running,” she says, “I’m the most authentic version of myself.” 

Talking helps, too. Molly first shared her mental health history a few years ago, “before she was famous,” as she puts it. After the Olympics, though, she kept talking and hasn’t stopped. The Tokyo Games were a turning point, she says. Suddenly the most revered athletes in the world were opening up about their mental health. Molly credits Simone Biles’s bravery for her own. If Biles, and Michael Phelps and Naomi Osaka, could come clean... then maybe a nerdy, niche-y, unlikely medaling marathoner could, too.

“Those guys got a lot more shit for it than I did,” says Molly. “I got off easy. I’m not a household name,” she laughs. She knows she can be candid and off the cuff—and chat freely in a not-empty café—in a way Biles never could. “I’m a nobody!” she laughs.

Still, a nobody with 232,000 Instagram followers whom she has touched in very IRL ways—becoming an unintentional poster woman for normalizing mental health challenges among athletes. “You are such an incredible inspiration,” @1percentpeterson posts, one comment of a zillion similar. “It’s ok to not be ok!” says another. Along with all the online love is, of course, online hate. Molly rattles off a few lowlights: “She’s an attention-seeking whore,” “Her bones are so brittle she’ll never race again,” “She’s running so badly and posting a lot she should really focus on her running more.” Molly finds it curious. “I’m like, ‘If you hate me, you don’t need to follow me, sir.’” 

It’s Molly’s nobody-ness—what Outside writer Martin Fritz Huber called her “runner-next-door” persona, and I’ll just call “genuine personality”—that has made her somebody in running’s otherwise reserved circles. 

Somebody who (gasp!) high-fives her sister in the middle of a major race, as she did at mile 18 of the 2021 New York City Marathon. “They shat on me in the broadcast for it,” she says. “They were like, ‘She’s not taking this seriously.’” (Except, uh, then she set the American course record, so…) 

Somebody who, obviously, swears like a sailor and dances awkwardly on Instagram, who dresses up like a turkey, and viral-tweets about getting mansplained on an airplane. (“He starts telling me how I need to train high mileage & pulls up an analysis he’d made of a pro runner’s training on his phone. The pro runner was me. It was my training. Didn’t have the heart to tell him.”)

Somebody who makes every middle-aged mom-runner I know swoon like a Swiftie and say: “OMG! YOU HUNG OUT WITH MOLLY SEIDEL!!?” Middle-aged dad-runners, too. “I saw her once in Golden Gate Park!” my friend Dan fanboyed when he heard. “I waved!” Did she wave back? “She smiled,” he says, “while casually laying down 5:25s.”

And somebody who was as outraged as I was that I bought a $16 tube of French toothpaste from my hip Flagstaff motel. (It was 10 p.m.! It was all they had!) “For that price it better contain top-shelf cocaine,” she texted. Lest LetsRun commenters take that tidbit out of context: It’s a joke. It’s, in part, what makes Molly America’s most relatable pro runner: She’s not afraid to make jokes. (While we’re at it… Don’t knock her for smoking a little legal weed, either. That’s so 2009. Per the World Anti-Doping Agency: Cannabis is prohibited during competition, not at a Christmas party two months before it. Per Molly: “People would be shocked to know how many pro runners smoke weed.”)

I can’t believe I never asked to see it. Molly’s medal. A real, live Olympic medal. Maybe because it was tucked into a credenza along with Matt’s menorah and her maneki-neko cat figurines from Japan. But I think it was because hanging out with Molly felt so…normal, I almost forgot she’d won one. 

People think elite distance runners have to be one-dimensional, she says. That they have to be sculpted, single-minded, running-only robots. “Because that’s what the sport has been,” she says. 

Molly falls for it, too, she says. She scrolls the feeds, sees her fellow pros living seemingly perfect lives. She wants everyone to know: She’s not. So much so that she requested we not print the photos originally commissioned for this story, which were taken when she was at the lowest of lows. (“It’s been...refreshing...to be pretty open and real with Rachel [about] the challenges of the last year,” she wrote in an email to Runner’s World editors. “But the photos [were taken at] a time when I was really struggling and actively trying to hide how bad my eating disorder had become.”)

Molly finds the NYC Marathon high-five thing comical but indicative of a more serious issue in elite running: It takes itself too seriously. It’s too…elitist. Too stilted. “Running a marathon is a pretty freaking cool experience!” If you’re not having fun, she asks rhetorically, what’s the point? Still, she admits, she isn’t always having fun. Though you wouldn’t know it from her Instagram. “Oh, I’m very good at making it seem like I am,” she says.

She used to enjoy social media when it was just her friends. Before she gained 50,000 followers in a single day after the trials, and some 70,000 on Strava. Before the pandemic, before the Olympics. Keeping up with content became a toxic chore. “You feel like you’re just feeding this beast and it’s never going to stop,” she says. She’s taken to deleting the app off her phone, reloading it only to fulfill contractual agreements and post for her sponsors, then deleting it again. 

As much as she hates having to post, she enjoys plugging products the only way that feels natural: through parody. As does Izzy, her influencer sister, who, like Molly, prefers to skewer rather than shill (à la their idea behind their joint Insta account: @sadgirltrackclub). “The classic influencer tropes make me want to throw up,” she says (perverse pun as a recovering bulimic not intended). “New Gear Drop!’ or ‘This is my Outfit of the Day!’ Cringe. “Hot Girl Instagram is not how I identify,” she says. 

Nor is TikTok. “Sponsors tell me all the time: You should TikTok! I’m like, ‘I am not doing TikTok.’ I know how my brain works. They’ll say, ‘We’ll pay you less if you don’t’—and I’m, like, I don’t care.”

And to those sponsors who ghosted her after she returned to eating disorder treatment, good riddance. “Michelob dropped me like a bad habit,” she says. “Whatever. You have watery-ass beer anyway.”

To those who have stood by her, though, she’s utterly devoted. Pissed she couldn’t wear the Puma panther head to toe in Tokyo, Molly took off her Puma Deviate Elites and tied them over her shoulder, obscuring the Nike logo on her Olympic singlet for all the world to see. Or not see. “Nike isn’t paying my fucking bills.”

The love is mutual, says Erin Longin, a general manager at Puma. After decades backing legends like Usain Bolt, Puma was relaunching road running and wanted Molly as their guinea pig. “She’s a serious athlete and competitor, but she also has fun with it,” says Longin. “Running should be fun. Molly embodies that.” At their first meeting, in January 2020, Molly made them laugh and nerded out over their new shoes. “We all left there, fingers crossed she’d sign with us,” says Longin.

Come February, they all flipped out. Longin was watching the trials, not expecting much. And then: “We were all messaging, “OMG!!” Then Molly killed in London. Medaled in Tokyo. “What she did for us in that first year…” says Longin. “We couldn’t have planned it!” 

Then came the second year, and the third, and throughout it all—injuries, eating disorder treatment, missed races, missed opportunities—Puma hasn’t flinched. “It’s easy for a company to do the right thing when everything is going great,” Molly posted in April, heartbroken from her couch instead of Heartbreak Hill. “But it’s when the sh*t hits the fan and they’re still right there with you….” She received 35,000 hearts—and a call from Longin: “You make me feel so proud.” 

Does it matter to Puma if Molly never places—never races—again? “Nope,” Longin says. 

My last afternoon in Flagstaff, it’s cloudy skies, still freezing. I find Molly on the high school track wearing neoprene gloves, black puffy coat, another pair of Pumas. Her breath is white, her cheeks red. Her legs churning in even, elegant strides. Upright, alone, at peace, backed by snow-dusted peaks. Running itself is what matters, not racing, she tells me. “I honestly don’t give a shit about winning,” she says. All she wants—really wants, she says—is to be healthy enough to run until she’s old and gray.

Molly’s favorite runner is one who didn’t get to grow old. Who made his mark decades before she was born: Steve Prefontaine. “Pre raced in such a genuine way. He made people feel something,” she says. “The sports performances you truly remember,” she adds, “are the ones where you see the struggle, the work, the realness.” 

Sounds familiar. “I hate conversations like, ‘Who’s the GOAT?’” Molly continues. “Who fucking cares? Who’s got the story that’s going to get people excited? That’s going to make some kid want to go out and do it?” 

I know one of those kids: My best friend’s daughter, Quinn, a rising track phenom in Oregon, who has dealt with anxiety and OCD tendencies. She has a picture of Molly Seidel, and her times, taped to her bedroom wall. This past May, Quinn joined Nike’s Bowerman Club. She was named Oregon Female Athlete of the Year Under 12 by USATF. She wants to run for Notre Dame. 

“Quinn loves running more than anything,” her mom tells me, texting photos of her elated 11-year-old atop the podium. “But I don’t know…” She’s unsure about setting her daughter on this path. How could she not, though? It’s all Quinn wants to do. Maybe what Quinn, too, feels born to do. 

It’ll be okay, I tell her, I hope. Quinn has something Molly never had: She has a Molly. 

Molly and I catch up via phone in June. A team of doctors in Germany has overhauled her biomechanics. She’s been running 110 miles a week, feeling healthy, hopeful. Happy. A month later, severe anemia (and accompanying iron infusions) interrupts her summer racing schedule. She cancels the couple of 10Ks she had planned and entertains herself by popping into the UTMB Speedgoat Mountain Race: a 28K trail run through Utah’s Little Cottonwood Canyon—coming in second with a 3:49:58. Molly’s focus is on the Chicago Marathon, October 8th; her first major race in almost two years. 

Does it matter how she does? Does it matter if she slays the Olympic Trials in February? If she makes it to Paris 2024? If she fulfills her childhood dream and brings home gold? 

Nah. Not if—like Matt, like Puma, like, finally, even Molly herself—you see Molly the Runner for who she really is: Molly the Mere Mortal. She’s the imperfect one who puts it perfectly: What matters isn’t her time or place, how she performs on the pavement. Or social media posts. What matters—as a professional athlete, as a person—is how she makes people feel: human. 

 

She’d been finally—finally—fit on all fronts; ready to race, ready to return. She needed Nagoya. And then, nothing. “It feels like I’m back at the bottom of the well,” says Molly, driving home from Whole Foods in her Toyota 4Runner. “This last year-and-a-half has been so difficult. It’s just been a lot of doubt. How do I approach this, as someone who has now won a medal? Like, man, am I even relevant in this sport anymore?” She pops a piece of gum in her mouth. I wait for her to offer me some, because that’s what you do with gum, but she doesn’t. She’s so in her head. “It’s hard when you’re in the thick of it, you know, to figure out: Why the fuck do I keep doing this? When it just breaks my heart over and over and over again?” 

Ethiopia delivered a remarkable double victory at the 2026 Bank of China Hong Kong-Zhuhai-Macao Bridge Half Marathon on Sunday, November 15, with Wede Kefale and Addisu Gobena emerging victorious in the women's and men's races respectively.

Staged along the spectacular Hong Kong-Zhuhai-Macao Bridge, the event brought together some of the finest distance runners from Ethiopia, Kenya, South Africa and other nations for a fiercely contested 21.097-kilometre challenge across one of the world's most recognisable sea-crossing structures.

The competition produced impressive performances, with Ethiopia showcasing its depth in distance running while Kenyan athletes also secured several places among the leading finishers.

In the women's contest, Kefale produced a composed and determined performance to secure the biggest prize of the day. She crossed the finish line in 1:09:01, holding off a strong challenge from South Africa's Glenrose Xaba, who finished second in 1:09:09. Ethiopia's Fantu Worku completed the podium in 1:09:14, making it an exceptionally close battle among the leading three women, who were separated by just 13 seconds.

The Ethiopian victory was particularly impressive given the quality of the field. Xaba, one of South Africa's leading distance runners, pushed hard throughout the contest but ultimately had to settle for second, while Worku demonstrated Ethiopia's remarkable strength by securing another podium position.

Kefale's victory was supported by an impressive Ethiopian presence throughout the top 10. Baraky Redae finished fourth in 1:09:51, followed by compatriot Asmarech Anley in fifth with 1:10:21. Kenya's Miriam Chebet was sixth in 1:11:05, ahead of Morocco's Fatima Ezzahra Birdaha, who clocked 1:11:23. Kazakhstan's Daisy Jepkemei placed eighth in 1:11:42, while Ethiopia's Zewudie Wudu finished ninth in 1:12:08. Kenya's Priscah Jepleting Cherono completed the top 10 in 1:12:29.

The men's race provided another memorable moment for Ethiopia as 22-year-old Addisu Gobena claimed the overall victory, He clocked 1:01:33 to finish ahead of compatriot Aliyi Kasim, who secured second place in 1:02:29.

Kenya's Alex Lenalepisho delivered a strong performance to take third in 1:02:47, preventing a complete Ethiopian sweep of the men's podium. Morocco's Othmane El Goumri finished fourth in 1:03:07, while Kenya's Abel Kiplimo followed in fifth with 1:03:33

Kenyan representation remained particularly strong throughout the men's top 10. Ezra Kipketer Tanui finished sixth in 1:05:32, followed by Ethiopia's Tafere Adisu in seventh with 1:05:35. Kenya's Meshack Kipchirchir placed eighth in 1:06:01, Benard Kipkorir was ninth in 1:06:15, and compatriot Sena Ledama completed the top 10 in 1:06:21.

Gobena's triumph adds another impressive achievement to Ethiopia's growing presence on the international road-running circuit, while the performances of Kasim and Lenalepisho underlined the competitive depth of the men's field.

The 2026 edition was also significant for the event itself, having earned World Athletics Platinum Label status, placing it among the highest-rated road-running competitions internationally. The bridge provided a spectacular setting for the contest, bringing together elite athletes from different countries for a memorable day of long-distance racing. 

Beyond the podium, the results highlighted the international character of the competition, with athletes from Ethiopia, Kenya, South Africa, Morocco and Kazakhstan featuring prominently in the leading positions.

Ethiopia therefore left Hong Kong with both overall titles, while Kenya had plenty of reasons to take encouragement from its strong representation across both races.

For the organisers, the successful staging of this Platinum Label competition represents another important milestone in the development of road running in Hong Kong. For the athletes, it was an opportunity to test themselves against international opposition on a distinctive course that offered a memorable backdrop to the racing.

American sprint sensation Noah Lyles could be preparing to chase one of the most extraordinary achievements in athletics history after dropping a tantalising hint about his ambitions for the 2027 World Athletics Championships in Beijing, China.

The four-time world 200m champion has sparked excitement among athletics fans after sharing a cryptic message on social media reading “4x ? 2027”, raising speculation that he could be targeting an unprecedented four gold medals when the global championships return to the iconic Bird’s Nest Stadium.

Although Lyles has yet to confirm exactly which events he intends to contest, the possibility of a four-event campaign has become particularly intriguing following World Athletics’ announcement that the mixed 4x100m relay will make its World Championships debut in Beijing.

Such an opportunity could open the door for the American superstar to compete for gold in the men's 100m, 200m, men's 4x100m relay and the newly introduced mixed 4x100m relay.

For Lyles, Beijing could represent much more than another opportunity to add to his impressive collection of championship medals. It could be the stage where he attempts to establish himself as the most successful male athlete in World Athletics Championships history.

The 100m would undoubtedly be one of his biggest attractions. Having claimed the world title in Budapest in 2023 before completing his remarkable rise to Olympic glory at the Paris 2024 Games, Lyles knows exactly what it takes to rule the world's premier sprinting stage. However, he will be eager to reclaim the global crown after settling for bronze behind compatriots in the 2025 World Championships in Tokyo.

The 200m, meanwhile, remains his strongest territory. Lyles has established an extraordinary legacy over the half-lap distance, winning four consecutive World Championships titles in 2019, 2022, 2023 and 2025. In Tokyo, he matched Usain Bolt's remarkable achievement of four successive world 200m crowns, further strengthening his reputation as one of the greatest performers the event has ever witnessed.

His ambitions would also extend to the relays, where he has repeatedly demonstrated his value to Team USA. Lyles has already collected four World Championships gold medals in the men's 4x100m relay, including victories in 2019, 2022, 2023 and 2025. Another successful campaign in Beijing would provide an opportunity to add to that impressive record.

The introduction of the mixed 4x100m relay could make the challenge even more fascinating. With the event officially scheduled to make its World Championships debut in Beijing, the competition will offer another opportunity for the world's leading sprinters to showcase their speed on the global stage.

Beyond the possibility of four gold medals, however, there is an even bigger historical prize waiting for Lyles.

The American currently boasts eight World Athletics Championships gold medals. Winning four more in Beijing would take his career tally to 12, moving him beyond Jamaican sprint legend Usain Bolt, whose 11 world titles remain the benchmark for male athletes in the competition's history.

That would be a remarkable achievement for an athlete who has never hidden his admiration for Bolt and his desire to reach the heights established by the Jamaican legend.

Interestingly, the Bird's Nest Stadium carries its own special place in sprinting history. It was at the same venue during the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games that Bolt announced himself to the world with his breathtaking performances in the 100m, 200m and 4x100m relay. Nearly two decades later, the iconic stadium could provide the setting for another extraordinary chapter in sprinting history.

For Lyles, the challenge will be enormous. Successfully navigating four demanding events, managing the competition schedule and delivering at the highest level across individual and relay races would require exceptional preparation, consistency and teamwork.

Nothing has yet been confirmed regarding his participation in all four disciplines, but his intriguing message has certainly given athletics followers something exciting to anticipate.

Could Beijing 2027 become the championship where Noah Lyles transforms an ambitious dream into an unforgettable reality?

Four events, four potential gold medals and the possibility of surpassing one of the greatest sprinting legends of all time. The countdown to Beijing promises to be fascinating.

What began as one of the most entertaining and talked-about stories of the 2026 New York City Marathon has taken an unexpected turn, with Houston-based lawyer Andrea Sager losing her official race result after a viral video showed her smoking marijuana during the event.

The 35-year-old mother of two attracted widespread attention on November 1 when she lined up for the iconic 26.2-mile race wearing a bright pink running vest carrying a humorous personal advertisement: “Andrea, 35, Single. Great Credit. Bad Judgment.” The unusual message quickly made her one of the most recognizable personalities among the thousands of participants, generating plenty of reactions from spectators and social media users.

However, it was another moment captured on camera that eventually landed her in trouble with race organizers. A video circulating online showed Sager accepting a puff of marijuana from a spectator while running along the marathon course, turning what had initially been a lighthearted appearance into a much bigger controversy.

Following the circulation of the footage, New York Road Runners (NYRR), the organization responsible for staging the marathon, removed Sager's finishing time of 5:54 from the official results after determining that she had violated its Code of Conduct. The regulations prohibit smoking, vaping and the use of tobacco or marijuana products in the starting corrals, along the course and within the designated race areas.

Despite the disqualification, Sager was allowed to retain her physical finisher's medal, meaning she still has a memento of completing the demanding journey through New York's five boroughs, even though her official finishing result no longer stands.

Sager has since offered an explanation for her decision, revealing that she was struggling physically as the race progressed. With considerable discomfort in her legs and the marathon becoming increasingly difficult, she said she accepted the offer from a spectator in an attempt to manage the pain and make the remaining miles more bearable.

Interestingly, the controversy has not entirely dampened her enthusiasm for the experience. Rather than retreating from the attention, Sager has embraced the unexpected publicity, revealing that the viral moment has brought considerable interest on social media and dating platforms.

Her distinctive pink running vest has also become a talking point beyond the marathon, with the attention opening up potential opportunities for merchandise and brand partnerships inspired by the memorable message.

Although she initially challenged the decision, Sager has acknowledged that the organizers were enforcing their regulations and appears to be taking the outcome with a sense of humour. She has also indicated that she could return to the marathon distance in the future, suggesting that her New York experience may not be her last.

For Sager, the 2026 New York City Marathon will undoubtedly be remembered for reasons far beyond the challenge of covering 26.2 miles. She arrived at the starting line hoping to enjoy her first marathon and perhaps attract a little attention with her unusual outfit. Instead, she left with a viral story, unexpected publicity and a disqualification that has made her one of the most talked-about recreational runners from this year's event.

Her finishing time may have disappeared from the official results, but her story has certainly found a place in the conversation surrounding this year's marathon.

After all, completing a marathon is an achievement in itself, but Andrea Sager's New York experience came with a twist that few runners could have anticipated!

World mile record holder Josh Kerr has sparked an interesting conversation among runners after questioning the growing popularity of hydration vests, suggesting that many athletes may be carrying more equipment than they actually need for their everyday training sessions.

The British distance-running star shared his thoughts during a Reddit Ask Me Anything session hosted by BBC Sport on Monday, where he responded to questions from fans about training, competition, rivalries and some of the lighter aspects of his life as an elite athlete.

Among the most relatable topics was the increasing use of hydration vests, a piece of equipment that has become increasingly common among recreational runners, particularly those who head out for regular training sessions.

Kerr offered a straightforward perspective, suggesting that runners covering distances of less than 12 miles (approximately 19 kilometres) generally do not need to carry water with them. He believes that some running trends are driven more by marketing than genuine necessity, using hydration vests as an example of equipment that has perhaps become more popular than it needs to be.

He further pointed out that runners training in urban environments can usually find somewhere to purchase a drink if they need one, rather than carrying additional equipment throughout their entire run.

However, his comments were not intended as a universal rule for every athlete. Hydration requirements differ depending on individual needs, weather conditions, training intensity and the distance being covered. Runners tackling longer distances, particularly in hot conditions or on remote trails, may still benefit considerably from carrying their own fluids.

Away from the equipment debate, Kerr also addressed questions about his relationship with Norwegian distance-running superstar Jakob Ingebrigtsen. Keeping his response brief and humorous, the Briton remarked, "I wouldn't say we're buddies!" However, he acknowledged that rivalries are an important part of athletics and can help make the sport more exciting for competitors and spectators alike.

The 2024 Paris Olympic Games also featured prominently in the discussion, particularly the men's 1500m final, where Kerr secured the silver medal in a British record of 3:27.79 behind American Cole Hocker.

Despite narrowly missing out on Olympic gold, Kerr insisted that he had no regrets about how he approached the race, reflecting the confidence and competitive mentality that have helped establish him among the leading middle-distance runners in the world.

The Scottish star also offered fans a glimpse into the demanding training sessions behind his remarkable mile world record, providing insight into the preparation required to compete at the highest level. He additionally touched on the possibility of eventually moving up to the marathon, a prospect that will undoubtedly attract considerable interest given his credentials over shorter distances.

Not every question, however, was about world records, Olympic medals or gruelling workouts. In one particularly amusing moment, Kerr was asked how far he thought he could run on just a single square sausage and a can of Irn-Bru, bringing a distinctly Scottish flavour to the conversation.

The exchange offered a refreshing look at the personality behind one of Britain's biggest athletics stars, showing that even athletes operating at the very highest level have plenty of opinions about everyday running habits.

For recreational runners, Kerr's message about hydration vests is certainly worth considering, although individual circumstances should always determine what equipment is necessary. His broader point was simple: runners should understand their actual training needs rather than automatically following every new trend in the running industry.

Kenyan marathon star John Korir is preparing to chase a remarkable piece of history at the 2026 Valencia Marathon, where victory could make him the first male athlete in more than two decades to successfully defend the prestigious title.

The 30-year-old, who will celebrate his birthday just four days before the December 6 race, returns to Spain with an opportunity to achieve something that has proved exceptionally difficult in the history of the competition. Having conquered the Valencia streets last year in an outstanding 2:02:24, Korir now has his sights firmly set on becoming a two-time consecutive champion.

A successful defence would place Korir in an exclusive group of athletes who have managed to win Valencia's men's marathon twice. The race's historical records identify only three previous multiple winners: Teodoro Pérez, Eduardo Alcaína and Samuel Tangus. Tangus remains the last man to achieve consecutive victories, having triumphed in 2002 and 2003.

Korir's opportunity has become even more promising following the withdrawal of Ethiopian star Yomif Kejelcha, who was ruled out of the December 6 contest because of an injury. Kejelcha had been among the biggest attractions in the anticipated showdown. His absence removes a major challenger and leaves Korir as one of the leading favourites heading into the race.

The Kenyan's recent performances explain why expectations are so high. He has established himself among the world's most formidable marathon runners, collecting major victories in Chicago in 2024, Boston in 2025, Valencia in December 2025 and Boston again in April 2026. His latest Boston triumph was particularly impressive, as he successfully defended his crown in a spectacular course-record time of 2:01:52.

However, Korir is not returning simply to defend his title. He has much bigger ambitions, with reports indicating that he is targeting a historic sub-two-hour performance on Valencia's famously fast course. To prepare for that challenge, the Kenyan has reportedly increased his training volume to between 250 and 270 kilometres per week, demonstrating the scale of preparation behind his ambitions.

Breaking the two-hour barrier would be an extraordinary achievement, particularly on a course where the current men's record stands at 2:01:48, set by Ethiopia's Sisay Lemma in 2023. Korir already knows what it takes to deliver a major performance in Valencia, having produced a commanding victory last year.

Turning 30 just days before the competition, Korir appears to be entering an exciting period of his marathon career. His combination of experience, consistency, confidence and remarkable endurance makes him a serious contender not only for another victory but also for a possible assault on the course record.

For Korir, December 6 represents an opportunity to go beyond another major marathon victory. He could end a 23-year wait for a consecutive men's champion in Valencia, join an exclusive group of multiple winners and potentially deliver one of the fastest marathon performances ever witnessed.

The challenge is now clear: defend his crown, make history and perhaps bring the world closer to another landmark moment in marathon running.